Noah
I had convinced myself that it was just another night. Just another pick-up, just another dinner. But as soon as I pulled up to her house, that little lie shattered like glass beneath my feet.
Her home wasn’t cold or ostentatious like so many of the affluent places I’d seen. No, it was tasteful. With wide windows, pale stone, and flower pots by the door that likely weren’t planted by her hands, but I bet she could name every bloom. It whispered of old money without flaunting it like a badge. But none of that mattered. Each detail reminded me that our lives were constructed from entirely different blueprints.
I lingered at the curb, engine humming softly, foot tapping against the side of my bike. The evening breeze offered little relief from the heat twisting in my chest.
Then the door opened, and just like that, I was lost.
Liz stepped out like a vision from a dream I had no right to claim. She wasn’t adorned in anything flashy or over-the-top. Just a soft forest green dress—this one was different from the first date, sexy yet elegant enough that my mother would nod in approval. It hugged her in a way that made it impossible to look away. Her hair curled gently at the ends, shimmering in the porch light.
She approached me slowly, calm as ever, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing around us. For the third time that week, I forgot how to breathe. When she reached me, she smiled.
“Hey.”
Oh, that voice of hers.
“Hey.”
I offered her the helmet, my hand steadier than I felt inside.
She took it, our fingers grazing together, that same electric thrill jolting through me—an undeniable feeling I was trying so hard to suppress. She climbed onbehind me, wrapping her arms around my waist, and just like that, she was close again. Too close, and I was already drowning in guilt before we even hit the road.
---- ??? ----
As soon as we stepped into my house, a wave of noise washed over us. My mom’s voice floated in from the kitchen, music blared from the Bluetooth speaker that Jackson had a knack for "borrowing," and a hint of something slightly overcooked wafted through the air—comforting in that familiar, homey way.
“Is that you two?” my mom called out, and then she popped around the corner, her hands busy drying on a towel. Her face brightened.
“Liz! Oh, sweetheart, you look absolutely lovely.”
Liz beamed back, ever the gracious guest. “Hi, Mrs. Maron.”
“Sherry, please,” my mom replied, enveloping her in a warm side hug. Then she turned to me, her eyes sparkling. “And you—thank you for not being late for once.”
“Just trying to impress,” I mumbled, earning a playful elbow from Liz behind me.
Then Jackson sauntered in, as expected, chewing on something and sporting that annoyingly charming grin of his.
“Ohhh, this is Liz,” he exclaimed, eyes widening in exaggerated surprise. “Wow. You really downplayed it, man.”
I shot him a warning glance. “Don’t.”
He brushed it off, strolling past us with a casual wave to Liz. Then, leaning in just for me, he whispered,
“She’s stunning. Like… wow. You sure she’s real?”
“Go choke on your ego,” I shot back.
He just chuckled and disappeared back into the kitchen.
I lingered for a moment, taking in the sight of Liz tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, chatting with my mom as if they were old friends. She fit in so effortlessly, and that was the hardest part.
Because deep down, I knew this world wasn’t truly hers. She was like a tourist here, a fleeting ray of light in a space I could never keep tidy enough to deserve her.
She didn’t know everything. She didn’t know about the parts of me I carefully tucked away when I shared my life—the things I’d done, the things I might do again if pushed to it, and I understood that when she eventually uncovered the truth, it would sting. It would reshape us in ways I couldn’t bear to imagine.
But tonight, she smiled at me.
